Interesting Story : "My Learning From The Left" By "Okunola Segun"

My parents had named me Daniel but I could

not make up calling it correctly due to some

phonological processes so I ended up calling

myself Dane which became what other

people called me. We only had two children

in our family; i’m the first born, and our

second and last born was named Rachael, a

girl.

One could easily fathom that our family

was a Christian one. We lived in a two-storey

building defended with flower. My parents

were teachers, strict and disciplinary,

therefore they injected the habit of behaving

well and reading hard in us.

It was already late in one night; the birds had

gone to their nest to rest; the goats had

returned from grazing land to journey the

land of rest. Well, my street had gained its

name, Surulere, and it had also been the first

street to dry up of voices of passers-by

except for the voices of some insects or

frogs around. Before the darkness began to

take over the earth, my father had arrived

home and met my mother cooking. We also

helped in the kitchen doing the cooking; we

were old enough_ I was eight and my sister

was four. One must say whenever it

happened to have cooked at eleven hour, my

mother would feel frustrated and lay some

anger on us.

We were done in the kitchen, my mother

shared the food, and my father asked us to

bring his food when it became cool but my

sister and I could not wait anymore therefore

we ate the food with its hotness. After we

had finished eating, we went outside to play

the moon which had already carpeted the

earth with its brightness.

Some minutes later, my father called us to

bring his food outside the house for him. I

made the arrangement for the food while my

sister made that of water. Well, my mother

had already blessed herself by fulfilling her

promise with her stomach. At a moment like

this, my father would give my sister and me

out of his meat, cow meat or fish. It had

become his habit to always do so and at

times, he would remain his food for us, not

that he would be really stuffed but because

he knew every child would expect leftover

from his or her parent. And we, his children,

had always had our throats to his stretched

hand. My father had now remained his food,

called my sister, and he gave her some meat.

I was expecting him to call me, and he

indeed called me to take the food upstairs.

Gloomy surprise! I was so downcast and my

throat dried immediately that my heart even

wept for my would. I took it upstairs gently

with my heart filled with numerous

questions. “Did my father forget to give me

my share? Or was he angry with me? And so

on.” I got upstairs and lay the food on the

table. My heart asked me to open the food

which had been covered and so did my hand.

There were pieces of meat on the food which

were very small in size but there appeared a

piece which was very big. Immediately, the

same heart asked me to take a piece out of

the small pieces and so I did, believing my

father would not discover, and I went

downstairs to meet them.

Some minutes later, we all went upstairs. My

heart beat and stroke my chest immediately

my father sat and opened his food. I began

to pray that he should not catch me. My

heart spoke to me with another voice

appearing to be another heart that I could not

go scotfree and I deserved to be punished

for my sin. Ah! My heart rose and touched

the sky as I heard my father calling my name,

“Daniel!” I raised my countenance and faced

him, and he then drew my mother’s

attention.

“I purposely did not give your child out of the

meat the other time,” said my father with his

cool voice but one could see disappointment

and anger in it. I knew my mother was

thinking that a bad child would always be

pushed to his or her mother. I was down

hearted, knowing fully what he was saying.

My father explained that he counted the

pieces of meat before giving me in other to

test my integrity if I would prove to be

trustworthy. He said that the big meat was

meant for me if I hadn’t stolen a piece. If I

had known, I would have taken to the adage

which says a patient dog eats the fattest

bone. If I had known, I would not have

allowed my heart and greediness to mislead

me. My dad caned me that day and called me

a thief. “Thief” became a word that always

rang in my heart, a word that had been

keeping me righteously, and I’d not for once

forgotten that day. He made me understand

that stealing could sabotage one’s name and

generation, and it could stop a person from

being successful. Petty stealing could

actually move to robbery, and untimely death

usually becomes the fate of any armed

robber. He said, “Everyday is meant for a

pilferer, but one day is meant for his flaw and

downfall,” and it sank to my brain; it

remained the first and last time I would steal.